


nothing like the sun

by sinumbral



Series: closer to the stars [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Author's Personal Coping Mechanism, Gen, Introspection, POV Second Person, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinumbral/pseuds/sinumbral
Summary: Warrior of Light introspection following certain 5.3 revelations.  No other characters appear.You were Azem, once.And someday, you may yet be again.
Series: closer to the stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895812
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	nothing like the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Summary:
> 
> You were Azem once.
> 
> And someday, you may yet be again.

You were Azem once.

And someday, you may yet be again. 

For now, you sit high on the walls of Revenant's Toll, looking out over Mor Dhona. Some part of you wonders whether this place meant something to that _other_ you, so long ago. Your feet always find their way back here, and there's a sort of comfort in the people and the way they strive together, cooperating when the rest of the world seems at odds with itself. So much like the Crystarium, you muse, and so nearby, in the shadow of that blue spire.

The worlds and the names are different, but the faces and the hearts are the same.

You look south: Castrum Centri's walls barely even remember the sounds of Garlean occupation, and Carteneau is quiet. They remain scars on the landscape still, but Eorzea is recovering, and in some ways she grows back stronger. What they say of you in the cities has a bit of truth to it, that you are an inspiration, a beacon of hope to the world. 

_Weary wanderer..._

The thought finds your mind unbidden. Even now, you struggle to identify any lies amongst his words, and these perhaps were truest of all. You are--you always have been--a traveller, and in time it always takes its toll.

The sun emerges from behind a cloud, scattering its rays across the surfaces of a hundred and more crystals; from a grand design of prisms a single beam reflects off the stone in your hand and its golden-orange glow draws your eye again. You could not have left it there in the hallway of the Crystal Tower, nor in Amaurot, any more than you could have left behind a limb, and you suspect that if you had it would have found its way back to you regardless, as such things always do, in the same way you've managed to never misplace a job stone for more than a moment.

It's such a _small_ thing, but you can feel the power radiating from it as surely as you see its glint; even in darkness, it's never truly dim. Who were they, you wonder, this other you-- _those_ other yous, who once held the seat this stone represented? How much of them remains in you and in it, and how much is no more than Emet-selch's recreated memories? What did the others think of them, of you, of the decisions they faced?

Questions without answers, at least for now. You stand and turn, looking northwards to Coerthas and beyond it to Ishgard; you are no stranger to tangled tales, as the people of that place well know. Some part of you is eager to start looking, to be once more on the road, to seek answers. The crystal is heavy in your hand--it remains a secret and must, but with it you somehow feel less alone than you had before. It is an anchor of sorts, tying you to the past so the winds of eternity don't blow you away, scatter you across near to half a dozen worlds.

You clutch it close as you descend the stairs leading down from the lookout post atop the wall. In the distance, you hear the voice of a child. "Keep it, keep it!" he shouts to his companions, all well beyond your sight. The Toll bustles as evening draws near: adventurers return home, shops close, and families gather together. So too should you return to yours, at least for a little while.

But the road is already calling, and morning shall bring with it the start of yet another journey for the Traveller.

You were Azem, once.

And some part of you, you think, always has been.

**Author's Note:**

> For N, who ran through the patch with me and sat with me afterwards as I cycled through the five stages of grief two and a half times in twelve hours, and who helped me come to terms with my own personal headcanons in the wake of it.


End file.
